In Need of Repair
by jmr27
Summary: Dean has a plan to fix the Colt after Dagon destroyed it: time travel to find Samuel Colt. Except something goes wrong with the spell, and Sam and Dean find themselves in a place they don't expect, and in the middle of a hunt they aren't equipped for. Can they kill the monster, find a way to repair the Colt, and get back home without changing history?
1. Chapter 1

**Catch a Falling Star**

 _England, 1608_

The night was cold. The frozen ground crunched underfoot and Anne Winchester could see her breath as a puff of white fog with every exhale. Frost glittered all around her, sharp and chilled, reflecting the stars that littered the skies above. There were no clouds tonight but also no moon. Nevertheless the night was bright. A ball of burning fire cut across the sky, bathing the world below in an eerie yellow glow.

Was it a light shining out of the window of heaven, or a reflection of the hell-fires that burned far below?

The men gathered around the telescope in the library of the big house behind her were debating that very question right now. When they had caught Anne listening, they had sent her away and shut the door, telling her to go to bed. A child had no place among the great debates of the Men of Letters.

"Anne! We're not supposed to be out here!" Anne's little brother Thomas trailed after her, huddled in his winter goat, eyes darting back toward the house as if expecting an adult to come and scold them back inside at any moment.

"So go back in!"

Tom did not slow down or turn around, even though at age 8 he had to run to keep up with Anne, who was 12.

"Where are you going? The comet is up there!" Tom pointed to the light burning a trail across the sky.

"Something fell." Anne slowed her pace, allowing her little brother to catch up. Anne pointed to the comet's tail. A thin line broke away from the white trail, cutting its own path toward the earth below. Black smoke curled up from the ground, and Anne picked up her skirts to better navigate the rocky terrain.

Thomas paused to stare at the sight. "You should tell father's friends!" Thomas said, scrambling to catch up again.

"Father's friends don't want to listen to me," Anne said.

The scent of scorched earth and metal singed Anne's nose. She slowed her pace, searching the ground around her.

There! A black scar cut through the dirt, a dark mirror of the white, smoky tail that chased the comet above. The scar ended in a smoking pit, where a lump of molten metal glowed red. Anne leaned forward, but Tom caught hold of her arm.

"Don't! It could be from the Devil!" Tom's tone was hushed with awe. He, too had, heard the mutterings of the Men of Letters.

"Or it could kill a devil," Anne said, but she did not lean any closer yet. She could feel the head from from the lump of metal, and had no blacksmith tools handy to help handle the thing. Slowly, the angry red glow faded. The comet had left the sky and dawn colored the horizon red. Thomas had fallen asleep at Anne's side, head in her lap.

Anne fetched a stick and pried the cold lump of metal from the ground. It was still warm to to the touch, but did not burn her skin. The size of two fists, the meteorite was gray and dull. In short, unremarkable. Yet Anne felt a thrill of anticipation when she touched it. This unremarkable lump of metal was important in some way. She carefully tucked the meteorite out of sight, then shook her brother awake so that they could both crawl back into their beds before their father realized they had been gone at all.

 _Lebanon, Kansas, 2017_

 _Don't you worry, girl_. Dean ran his hands over the crumpled lump of metal that had once been The Colt. She was in two pieces now, her parts damaged beyond any repair Dean knew how to perform. He doubted even Bobby would have known how to fix her. There were antique dealers who might be able to re-form and re-assemble her parts, but they would know nothing of her inner workings.

They could hammer her back together again, but they couldn't make her capable of killing monsters again.

 _We're gonna get you all fixed up_.

The only man Dean knew of who could fix the Colt was the man who had made her. A man who had died over a century ago.

A man who Sam had met just a few years ago.

 _We're gonna go find your dad and he'll know what to do_.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway and Sam turned the corner into the Men of Letters library, dressed in his Western best. Their usual jeans and flannel were gone, traded out for canvas trousers, cotton shirts, and long leather jackets. Sam had done the shopping this time, via an online costuming company that promised authenticity. Having been to the Wild West once before, they knew what they would need to blend in.

"This is a really bad idea, Dean."

"Yeah, Sammy, I heard you the first five times." If Sam really objected, he would have refused to help with the preparations. "It'll be fine."

"Every time one of us time travels, we almost get stuck in the past."

"That's why we prepared everything we need for the spell to get home ahead of time." Dean nodded to Sam's duffel bag. "It is ready, right?"

Sam nodded. "Two sets of ingredients, in separate bags, sealed so that they won't get ruined if things get wet.

"So we won't get stuck."

"If Samuel Colt even agrees to help us-"

"He helped us last time."

"This will be a younger Samuel Colt, I think." Sam looked down at the bowl full of spell ingredients that sat ready beside the remains of the Colt. "It supposed to take us to the gun's origins. We should come out on the night that Colt is actually making the gun."

Dean felt goosebumps crawling up his arms at the thought, and knew there was no way he could hide his excited smile from Sam. His little brother just raised his eyebrows in a familiar, how-am-I-related-to-you expression, and shook his head. Dean gathered up the broken pieces of the gun carefully, as if handling the wounded body of a friend, and tucked them away safely in his bag.

Sam had selected the door to one of the storerooms for the spell. It was a simple enough ritual, and soon the closet door they had chosen was glowing with blue light.

"Who needs a Delorian?" Dean gave his brother a congratulatory nod and opened the door into the past.

o0o

 _Diary of Thomas Winchester, Man of Letters_

 _Being an account of his journey to the New World_

 _December 1, 1620_

 _It has been two months since we set sail from England, and we have lost two of our company. Poor souls, I cannot blame her for wishing to depart this world. We have nothing to eat but hard tack, jerked beef, and the water tastes like someone has been washing his feet in the barrel. It is very curious, the deceased were found pale and cold, as if drained of blood. It is possible there is a vampire on board._

"Possible? Ha! I'd say it's a bit more than possible." A familiar voice laughed somewhere in the space behind his head.

Tom flicked his hand toward the back of his neck as if flicking away a fly buzzing in his ear. "Anne! Stop reading over my shoulder."

"Yes, but you hide your journal when I'm not looking, so how else am I supposed to find out what's going on?"

Thomas scowled, and Anne rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on! It's not like your journal is where you put all of your deepest, darkest secrets. It's a chronicle that will go in the Men of Letters' archives and be studied by future generations. Why can't I read it, too?"

"I don't care if you read it, just not over my shoulder while I'm writing it!" Thomas put his quill back in the ink pot with a resigned sigh. Clearly, he wasn't going to get any more work done today. He set the journal side and faced his sister with a somber expression that immediately turned her smile into a worried frown.

Did she know what he had in mind? Because she looked ready for a fight, and he hadn't even said a word yet.

"So we both agree there is a vampire on board. What are we going to do about it?"

Anne's frown deepened. "I don't see what we can do about it. You are a scholar. You don't know how to kill a vampire."

"Anne! We both know that to kill a vampire you have to take off its head."

"Exactly! You have no idea how to hold a sword, much less swing it at the right angle to decapitate a grown man. A grown man who will be much stronger and faster than you. You don't know how to fight, or dodge, or stop him from eating you. And what do you think will happen if you kill a man were one of the crew or the passengers can see?" Anne crossed her arms, her glare pressing into Thomas with the weight of her irrefutable logic.

He couldn't deny she had a point. "If we do nothing, the vampire will continue to kill passengers and crew! We might be next!"

"I didn't say I will do nothing." Anne reached into her pocket and pulled out the pistol that she carried hidden in her skirts. She checked the powder and the bullet as the spoke. "While you were inside studying with father, I was out learning to hunt pheasant and foxes. I'm a good shot, Thomas."

"Shooting a vampire won't kill it!"

"It will slow it down enough for me to shove it overboard." Anne tucked the pistol back into her pocket. "The water is deep and cold. It will freeze before it can get back to the ship."

"And what if someone see you shoot it?" Thomas fired Anne's objection back at her.

Anne reached into her trunk and pulled out a sachet of herbs. "A pinch of this and a few words, and they will fall right asleep. When they wake, they will think it was all a dream."

"Or they might not!" Thomas shook his head. "No, Anne! You can't go hunt this vampire."

"Well neither can you!"

"But we can't do nothing!" Thomas crossed his arms and glared at his sister, who crossed her arms and glared back. The staring match lasted a full minute before Thomas looked away. He gathered up his coat and moved toward the door. Anne stuck out a hand to stop him.

"Thomas!"

"I'm just going to ask a few questions and learn a little more. That's all. I promise."

Anne did not look like she believed him. "Don't do anything foolish, little brother."

o0o

Sam and Dean stepped through the door of the bunker into a small, cramped room with a low ceiling, one tiny window, and two narrow beds. At the foot of each bed was a large trunk, and tucked into one corner was a writing desk. The air was cold, and Dean shivered. He had been expecting a desert in summer.

"Mr. Colt?!" Sam called. "Samuel Colt!"

No one answered. The room was quiet, but for a creaking sound coming from the wooden timbers. Dean shifted his weight as the floor tilted underneath him, and his stomach did a flip-flop as if he were on an airplane and not on solid ground. He turned to look back through the doorway behind them. There was a wide, wooden floor that gave way to gray, choppy water under a wide, cloudy sky. A seagull flew past, the breeze from its wings ruffling Dean's hair. He slammed the door and turned to glare at his brother.

"Sam, I think you go the spell wrong."

"I did the spell just fine, Dean!"

"Then why are we on a boat?"

"A boat?"

Dean cracked the door open again. "Yeah, a boat."

Sam stared. A crewman walked across the deck, dressed in something that looked like it belonged to a pirate movie, not a western. Near the railing was a cluster of women in long, black dresses with wide, white collars. Dean narrowed his eyes. They looked familiar, like something out of a painting, or a school pageant.

"They look like Puritans," Sam said. The women turned away from the water, and Dean hastily pulled the door closed before anyone could notice two strangers who didn't belong on board, wearing clothing that didn't belong in this century.

"Puritans?"

Sam didn't explain. He crossed the room, which took all of about two steps, to flip through the book that sat out next to a feather quill and bottle of ink. "Diary of Thomas Winchester, Man of Letters."

"Winchester?"

"Men of Letters," Sam said. Dean could see the gears in his brother's head turning, connecting bits of random information to come up with yet another wild theory. "Hey, Dean. What is Samuel Colt knew the Men of Letters? I mean, what if he was a Man of Letters."

"Sam, the diary says Winchester!"

"Yeah, well we know the Winchesters were Men of Letters, but the knowledge that Samuel Colt would have needed to make the gun- Think about it. That sounds more like Men of Letters than Hunters."

"Well, it doesn't matter because this is not Samuel Colt's workshop." Dean turned back to the closet door they had come out of. "Do the spell again and take us home!"

Sam's eyes were still fixed on the book. He ran his fingers over the pages of cramped writing, trying to decipher the old-style script. "An account of his journey to the New World...December 1, 1620." Sam frowned. "Dean-I think we're on the Mayflower!"

"Huh?"

"1620. That's when the Mayflower arrived at Plymouth. That explains the Puritans."

Mayflower meant Pilgrims, and Thanksgiving and apple pie. "Puritans?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, the Pilgrims were Puritans, except they called themselves 'Saints,' and they had a bunch of strict religious rules."

Dean was start to remember a few things now, more from horror movies than his elementary school days. "Didn't Puritans like to burn people at the stake if they use witchcraft?"

"Uh-"

"Yeah, let's get that spell going before anyone finds us here."

"Right." Sam opened his bag to fetch the spell ingredients. He had everything laid out when the doorknob turned. The brothers only had time to exchange a panicked look before the door swung open.

A man stepped into the room. He had his hands raised, his movements careful as if afraid of making the wrong motion. He had a wary look on his face, and all his attention was focused on the woman behind him.

The woman had a gun in one hand, the barrel pushed into the man's rib-cage, prodding him forward. She froze when she saw Sam and Dean, and then the muzzle of the gun slowly moved to point directly at Dean's face.


	2. Chapter 2

2

Isaac Campbell stood on deck, heedless of the December wind slapping at his skin like an icy whip. He didn't even have a coat to protect his narrow frame, though most of the passengers and the crew who accompanied them were huddled in their warmest woolen gear. All wore black out of respect for the dead, and they had assembled on the deck to hear the words of the preacher, even though there could be no burial right now. That would have to wait until they found a place to land, and the ground thawed enough to be able to dig a hole.

Isaac watched the funeral with dry eyes, his face an impassible mask, heart similarly unmoved. Another corpse, another hunt. And the 'Saints' as they called themselves, would not allow him to burn the body. No, they insisted on waiting for a proper burial, and in a few years would reap the consequences of leaving a spirit to roam and fester until its power grew strong enough to kill more of their number.

If the company survived the winter. They were roaming the coast now, looking for a place to land and build their new colony. Food stores were running low and the ground would not thaw for planting for another four months at least.

Isaac had no pity for men and women who didn't have enough sense to keep themselves safe from the known dangers of hunger and thirst. Yet he would bleed for them before this was over, so that they did not wind up one someone-or something-else's dinner table. Such was the life of a Hunter.

Isaac turned away from the somber scene, slipping out of the crowd and down through the trapdoor that led below decks without being noticed. Not that the passengers usually paid much attention to what the crew did. Even though Isaac knew nothing about sailing, he slept with the crew, ate with the crew, and was paid with the crew. The crew know what his job here was, even if the passengers didn't. With the rise of science and 'rational' thinking in Europe, many people had forgotten about the existence of spirits, monsters, and magic. Hunters found it harder and harder to get paid for their work, although most kept doing the job anyway.

The crew of the ship were a different story. Among those who traveled on the ocean, superstition remained strong. The captain had even offered to pay Isaac to travel with them and protect their ship, and Isaac was not one to turn down a paying gig. A few of the crew glanced his way as he moved toward the trapdoor that led from the deck to the cabins below, but none said a word. They knew better than to interfere in the work he was doing.

Below decks was a cramped, smelly place where too many people had been cooped up together for too long. A few lucky passengers had enough money for private cabins above, but most of them stayed here. Right now, only the sick were still in the cabin. The rest had gone above for the funeral.

All but one. Isaac had seen her creeping away from the crowd a few moments ago, but she was not here in the main cabin. With a frown, Isaac stepped back and moved on to the storage areas. The space was tightly packed, filled with the tools and the food that the passengers would need to build their colony.

It was also not empty. Isaac could hear the faint sound of crying, and he followed it easily to find the girl huddled with her knees to her chest, face buried in her arms, weeping. Hannah Chilton. She was seventeen, traveling with her grandfather, and had been the last person to speak with the dead man before he died.

She was a sweet girl and well-liked, like Bianca in the Taming of the Shrew. But Isaac knew from experience that evil could lurk behind a sweet mask.

"Hannah." She gasped and looked up, startled, at the sound of her name.

"Mr. Campbell, sir!" Hannah scrambled to her feet. "I'm sorry. I know we're not really supposed to be in here. I just—I needed a place to be alone."

Her eyes were red, and her tears seemed genuine. So, perhaps she was not the killer here. Either way, she likely had valuable information.

"This is where they found Edmond's body," Isaac said, his tone stern.

Hannah's expression became closed and guarded. Now she looked more like a Lady Macbeth, haunted by a terrible secret that she could not wash off. "Yes, yes I suppose it is."

Isaac placed his hands on his hips. "Do you know what Edmond was doing in here?"

Hannah's eyes flicked sideways, as if searching for an answer in the shadows. "I don't—I think he was looking for a hammer to fix his mother's bed."

A lie. Isaac stepped closer and gestured across the room. "The tools are over there. Edmond was found there." Isaac pointed to the floor not far from them, between a rocking chair and a heavy wooden chest. "None of these items belong to him."

Hannah bit her lip, and her wide eyes begged him to stop the questions. "Please, sir, I don't—I can't-"

Something round and cold was pressed into Isaac's back, and a woman's voice said, "What are you doing here?"

Isaac recognized the shape of a gun, and raised his hands carefully. "Hannah and I were just having a conversation."

"Were you? Hannah? Would you like me to leave you alone with this crewman?"

Isaac winced. What did this woman think was happening here? Hannah shook her head. "No, ma'am!" She scurried away, leaving Isaac alone with the woman and her gun. He could not see her, she remained carefully behind him, but she must be one of the few wealthy enough to have a private cabin if she had the money to purchase a gun.

"Let's go." The gun pressed deeper into his side, and Isaac moved forward, following directions without complaint. There was no chance yet to duck away from the gun, but he was sure it would come soon enough.

He could handle one woman, even if she was the witch he hunter. They traveled back up to the deck, which was empty now, and the woman directed him to open the door of one of the private cabin built under the poop deck. He turned the knob carefully and his hopes of escape dropped when he saw two large men waiting there. Three against one would not be so easy.

Then the woman drew in a sharp breath, and suddenly the gun had moved, now pointed at the men, dressed in strange clothes, who crouched over a bowl that looked suspiciously like a spell, as if they had been caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar.

 _Hm_. This hunt just got a bit more complicated.

o0o

 _Wrong century. Wrong location. Wrong wardrobe_.

Sam shifted in his cotton cowboy shirt and resisted the urge to pull the Sheriff's star off his chest. It wouldn't do to make sudden movements. Not while staring into the business end of a very primitive pistol. The gun would not be accurate even at a close range. Unfortunately, in the cramped space of the tiny cabin, they were at very, very close range. So close, it didn't matter how old the gun was, it would not miss.

 _I didn't get the spell wrong_! It didn't matter that he and his brother were in danger of being shot, this was still the first thought on Sam's mind.

Sam held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, while the woman with the gun looked him and his brother up and down. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed into a frown at the sight of their golden sheriff stars. Then her gaze traveled down to the half-completed spell laid out on the floor in font of the closet door, and her eyebrows climbed to her hairline.

"Spell craft?"

"No! Not spell craft! Of course not spell craft! Why would you say a thing like that?" Dean said in his least convincing tone.

The man gestured to Sam and Dean as if their presence somehow settled an argument. "I told you I am hunting a witch!"

Sam looked down at the half-finished spell, then at his brother.

 _Puritans like to burn people at the stake if they use witchcraft_. Dean gave his brother a meaningful stare.

 _No, the Puritans on the Mayflower weren't known to have burned anyone at the stake. That happened later, in Salem._ Of course, it still probably wasn't a great idea to talk about witches in front of Pilgrims.

No, not Pilgrims. Sam took in their clothing again. The man was dressed in simple, worn clothing that looked like it belonged to a member of the ship's crew. The woman's dress was a dark blue and embroidered with colors and patterns that no Puritan would ever wear.

"There is no witch on board!" The woman's attention and the end of her gun were pointed back at the man she had escorted into the cabin.

"Two people have died."

"Yes, drained of blood with fang marks on their necks. It is a vampire."

These two were definitely not Puritans.

"Sounds like a vampire to me," Dean said, even though no one was paying any attention to him.

 _Your ancestors were chopping heads off vampires on the Mayflower_. So their grandfather, Samuel Campbell had once said.

The man shook his head, stubbornly sticking to his point despite the gun pointed at his liver. "A witch's illusion to throw us off the scent. I tracked a witch to this ship before it left port, and the captain allowed me a berth with the crew so that I could finish the job."

"Five months at sea, and you haven't found anything yet?" The woman did not sound impressed. "That's because there is no witch!"

"A vampire must feed every month. If this were the work of a vampire, we would have seen more dead long before today."

Sam couldn't help but nod in agreement. "He has a point."

Both strangers turned to stare at him.

"Which is why I am hunting a witch," the man said.

"Hannah Chilton is no witch!" the woman snapped. She didn't seem upset at the mention of witchcraft, only that the blame had been laid on the wrong person. Sam cocked his head, trying to get a better view of the pendant the woman wore as a necklace. Was that the Aquarian Star, symbol of the Men of Letters?

"She was the last person to speak with Edmond before he died," the Hunter said.

"That doesn't make her a witch!" the Woman of Letters protested.

"That means she may have important information. I was asking a few questions."

"Your questioning techniques need some work! She was white as a sheet."

"That is because she saw something that terrified her! She was on the verge of telling me something important before you interrupted!"

"Well how was I supposed to know you were a Hunter? I saw a crewman threatening a teenage girl below decks!"

"You might have stopped to listen before making assumptions and butting in!"

"If I stopped to join your conversation, I couldn't have gotten the drop on you!"

The Hunter grimaced at the reminder that all of this had started with his capture. "Shall we agree that we can now say Hannah Chilton is not a witch? We've found the witches."

"Whoa!" Dean threw his hands in the air. "We're not witches! I know this kinda—maybe—looks a little bit like witchcraft, but-"

"They're not witches."

Dean pointed to the woman triumphantly. "That's right!"

"How so?" The Hunter crossed his arms, no longer seeming concerned about being shot. "They have a witch's tools. They have a witch's herbs. They wear strange clothing. We have been on this ship for five months and I know the face of every man, woman, and child aboard, yet I have never seen them before. How can you say they are not witches?"

The Woman of Letters nodded to the half-prepared spell. "Witchcraft is dark magic, it draws power from death and demons and evil forces. There are no bones, no blood, no bits of dead things or demonic symbols. This spell is not evil." She leaned closer, sniffing. "It has something to do with travel, and birth."

"With talk like that, one might begin to think _you_ are a witch." The Hunter's tone was half-playful, half-suspicious.

The gun was once again firmly pointed at his midsection. "Well, I am not, and even though I can swim I'd rather not face a witch's trial so you'll just have to take my word for it."

"Yes, ma'am." There was a growing respect in the Hunter's eye. "My name is Isaac Campbell. What is your name?"

"Winchester. Anne Winchester."

Isaac Campbell tipped his hat in greeting. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Winchester. If these men are not witches, then who are they?"

The Hunter and the Woman of Letters turned to look at Sam and Dean with an identical question in their faces.

"I'm Sam Winchester. This is my brother, Dean. I think we're your great-great-great—lots of greats—grand kids," Sam said.

Dean dropped his hands and heaved an annoyed sigh, as if Sam was entirely missing the point. "Yeah, that's obvious, but what does that have to do with the Colt?"


	3. Chapter 3

Isaac Campbell had seen many strange things in his life. He had been apprenticed to his uncle to learn the trade of a Hunter at the age of twelve. During the hours when most people tucked themselves away in bed next to a warm fire, he was out running under the moonlight, chasing the demons away. Isaac had seen a man grow fur under the light of a full moon. He had seen a shifter change its face as easily as a snake sloughing its skin. He had been a Hunter twenty years now, and Isaac Campbell had seen all there was to see. He didn't expect the New World to offer any surprises.

Yet here they were, not even off of the ship, and two strangers claimed that they had walked through a door from the future to meet with their ancestors.

 _Men of Letters_. Isaac's uncle had warned him about the scholars who liked to poke their noses where they didn't belong, and drag trouble back in their wake. Men of Letters didn't care who lived and who died. They were like curious children, always exploring, never cleaning up their own mess.

Isaac's uncle had partnered with Men of Letters once. It had gotten him killed.

Isaac leveled his best glare at the two strangers, the one that made even the most seasoned soldiers squirm. "Why would men from the future come here? This ship is full of sick people. Winter is coming, and we haven't even found a place to land, much less begun to build. There will not be enough food to go around. This is not a good place to be."

"Yeah, well, this isn't where we meant to be!" The shorter brother, Dean, replied. "The spell didn't work right, so if you'll get out of the way, we'll just go home!"

"Wait!" Sam placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Dean, I know I did that spell right. We came here for a reason, and I would like to figure out what it is."

"We are on a ship full of Pilgrims! Running around asking people if they know about a type of gun that hasn't been invented yet is not a good plan!"

"Do you want to fix the Colt or not?"

"Fix a young horse?" Anne asked. She had her head tilted to one side, watching the brothers through narrowed eyes. "I am confused. There are no horses on board."

Sam opened his mouth to explain, but the cabin door burst open again. A young man staggered across the threshold. Isaace recognized him as Thomas, the younger brother of the woman who had escorted him to this cabin at gunpoint.

Thomas' clothes were disheveled, his hat knocked askew. He clutched his shoulder, but blood squirted between his fingers. His face was pale and his knees shaky. Isaac frowned, recognizing the symptoms. Judging by the amount of blood dripping down his harm, the kid had mere minutes before he bled out past the point of no return.

"Anne!" Thomas' eyes lit on his sister, and she dropped her pistol to free her hands to catch him. Isaac recognized the fear in her eyes. He had seen that expression too many times in his life. This woman held her entire world in her arms, and knew that she might only have minutes before she lost the thing she loved the most.

"Thomas. Oh, Thomas, what did you do!"

"I found the vampire, Anne! You said I couldn't, but-"

"I said you shouldn't! Thomas Winchester, so help me if you die-"

But Anne did not have time to say more. The strangers from the future were in motion. One had gathered Thomas in his arms and guided him to the bed while the other began to pull supplies out of their bag. They were strange tools that Isaac did not recognize, but he knew that now was not the time to ask questions. He watched, silent as a fly on the wall, while the brothers worked in tandem, there movements coordinated as only a team who have worked together for decades can be.

The had announced themselves as members of the Winchester family, but they acted like a team of Hunters than Men of Letters. They cleaned and stitched the wound as if they had done this a hundred times before.

Isaac stepped closer to get a look at the wound. A bite mark. A vampire bit.

 _Hm_.

"He's lost too much blood," Dean said. He was the shorter of the two, but Isaac guessed that he was the older brother. The lines around his eyes were deeper, and he took charge in a way that said he was used to taking the lead.

"Did we bring the saline kit?" If Sam was the younger brother, he was no less competent. Thomas had barely flinched as Sam stitched him up. As the men moved about, Isaac caught a glimpse of weapons tucked into their belts and more tucked into their bags.

There Winchesters were definitely _not_ Men of Letters.

"We brought everything. There ain't no way one of us is dying in the old west, or on the Mayflower, just because they didn't know how to do medicine yet." Dean produced a set of tubes, one short and thick, full of clear water, the other long and flexible, and tipped with a needle. He carefully turned Thomas' arm toward him and aimed the needle directly at the space where the elbow bent.

"Stop!" Anne had stood by quietly through the entire ordeal, but now she stepped forward and grabbed Dean's hand before he could puncture her brother's skin. "What are you doing? He has lost too much blood! Bleeding him will not help!"

Dean grimaced, but he didn't shake Anne off or dismiss her as some Hunters might. Instead, he held up the needle to she could get a better look. "I'm not going to bleed him. See this? I'm going to put some fluid in him to help with the blood loss."

Isaac's stomach did a somersault at the idea, and Anne's face turned green. "Put it _in_ him?"

"It's ok!" Sam moved from his position next to Thomas and wrapped a comforting arm around Anne while Dean carefully pushed the needle into Thomas' skin. "It's a sterile saline solution. It, um—it will help his body until he can make more blood. We've done it before, I promise it won't hurt him."

Isaac winced. 'I promise' were two words a Hunter should never say. There was no way to guarantee a life would be saved or a foe vanquished. Still, he hoped the young man would be alright. One hundred and fifty years ago, people thought that there was nothing beyond the great ocean, yet here they were, ready to build homes on the other side of that ocean. Perhaps, in one hundred and fifty years, these men from the future had learned how to put blood back in a person. Stranger things could happen.

Most importantly, perhaps Thomas could name his attacker and Isaac would be able to finish this hunt.


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

 _I promise_. Anne had heard those words before. The winter her mother died, she had promised them a holiday at the seaside in the spring. When their father died, he had promised their inheritance would not be burdened by debt, but the bank had come to collect anyway. Anne did not trust promises.

She shifted sideways toward the bed where Thomas lay and placed her hand on Thomas' forehead, then his neck. His pulse was weak, but his heart was still beat. There might even be a little color creeping back into his cheeks. She leaned forward to examine the needle and tube the stranger had stuck in her brother's arm.

She had heard of letting blood _out_ , but she had never heard of putting something back _in_ a person.

"It's called an I-V." More strange words came out of the taller man's mouth. What was his name? He had said it, but then she had forgotten it because of his next words. _We are your great-grandchildren_.

These men claimed to be from the future.

Anne had heard her father speak of another Man of Letters who had a theory that magic could open doors in time. She had thought it was nonsense. Magic can do a lot of things, but not that.

Could it?

Yet here she was with two strangers who had not been on the ship earlier today, who wore clothing that did not belong, and who had technology and knowledge that did not exist yet.

"Your name is Winchester." Anne fixed her eyes on the taller brother, the one who had tried to comfort her. "Are you Men of Letters?" What else would explain this knowledge they had?

"Sam Winchester, and we are Hunters, but our grandfather was a Man of Letters."

Beside him the Hunter, Isaac Campbell, made a strangled sound. "Surely not."

"Oh, yeah. We're Winchesters, but our father was a Hunter and he taught us to hunt." Now the other one spoke. Dean?

"And to heal," Anne said. She could feel Thomas shifted under her hand, and her heart fluttered with relief. He was getting better. "How could a Hunter have such knowledge?"

"He learned it in the Marine Corps, actually. It's basic field medicine in our time."

Hunters. Two Hunters with tools and knowledge far better than her own. Anne shifted her eyes to the bowl full of spell ingredients, which sat half-forgotten on the floor. An idea was forming in her mind.

"Anne?" Thomas' voice was soft but there was color in his cheeks again.

"Thomas! How are you feeling?"

"Not—bad." Thomas frowned, puzzled by the thought. "I was bitten, but I feel no pain!"

"That would be the codeine we gave him." Dean was wearing a very charming smile, one that said 'you can trust me.' How often did he use that smile to spin the lies Hunters had to live by? Anne had grown up as part of a secret society; she knew better than to trust an expression like that. "We dosed him with antibiotics too, so there shouldn't be an infection."

"You can keep him from getting an infection?" Isaac sounded like he was not quite ready to believe these strangers either.

"We can help prevent it," Sam said hastily. Ah-ha! There is was, the caveat. They could, maybe, sometimes, help, but sometimes...sometimes not. Anne squeezed her brother's hand tight.

"Anne, who are these people?" Thomas moved his head, trying to get a better look at all three strangers.

"Hunters. They are Hunters here to help us." Anne knew it was true, even if they didn't know it yet.

Dean shook his head before the words had left her mouth. "No, no we are not here to help! We have to get back home. I'm sure that this will all work out just fine. After all, nobody died on the Mayflower." He glanced at his brother. "Right?"

Sam just shrugged. "I don't know."

"William Butten died a month ago and another poor soul died yesterday," Anne said. She had seen death before. Her mother had died when Thomas was born. Her father had died five years ago. But those deaths were natural. William Butten's body had been cold, drained of blood, face frozen in fear. The memory of that sight still made Anne shiver.

"Well, you've got a Hunter here to take care of it!" Dean slapped Isaac on the back, making Isaac jump like a startled rabbit. Dean just grinned. "I'm sure a Campbell will know how to handle this. After all, everyone remembers the Mayflower so that means that everything worked out fine."

It was easy for him to say, when his brother was not the one lying half-dead in his bed. "Mr. Campbell is hunting a witch, Mr. Winchester." Anne moved across the room again, the pistol still keeping the men at a good distance. "My brother was attacked by a vampire."

"So now he's hunting a vampire. Am I right?" Dean said.

Isaac frowned. "This still does not make any sense. A vampire could not survive on board, and I know there is a witch-"

"What are you doing?" Sam's tone was sharp, his eyes narrowed, and Anne finished her trip across the room in one swift movement, scooping up the bowl full of half-finished spell.

"No!" Both brothers shouted at the same time. They surged forward, but stepped back again when Anne raised her pistol.

"We need that to get home!" Dean's friendly grin was gone now, replaced by a grim look of fierce determination.

"You aren't going home until you bring me the vampire's head." Anne held the bowl closed to her side and leveled a look at Dean to match his own. "My brother nearly died. If the vampire is not stopped, he will try something foolish again, and this time it might kill him. I cannot take that risk."

"He is a Man of Letters," Isaac said. "Men of Letters are not trained to hunt or kill."

"I am aware. That is why Thomas nearly got himself killed!"

"Trying to study a vampire-"

"Trying to kill it!"

Isaac blinked, as if the idea that Thomas would try such a thing would never occur to him. "Why would a Man of Letters try to kill the vampire?"

"Because people are dying, Mr. Campbell. But my brother is the only family I have left, and I am not going to lose him." Anne lifted the bowl and turned it upside-down, dumping its contents on the floor.

"No one is going home until you bring me that vampire's head and I know these people are safe."

Sam and Dean Winchester were tall men, but they both suddenly seemed to grow taller. They loomed over Anne, twin expressions of anger in their steely eyes. Anne felt her knees tremble, but braced herself to meet their glares. She was not sorry she had done it, and she would do it again.

"I have what you need to build the spell again, and I will give it you when I have the vampire's head." Anne hoped that her voice didn't sound as small as she suddenly felt. She looked down to where her gun lay on the floor, wondering if she could reach it before them.

But neither man lunged for his gun. Dean drew in a deep breath, and lowered his clenched fist his is side. "We saved your brother's life!"

Anne's guts twisted. They had, and this was a poor way to thank them. But they had been about to leave, and Anne couldn't have that.

She couldn't lose Thomas.

"Yes, and all your good work will be in vain if the vampire is not stopped."

"Dean-" Sam said.

Dean held up a hand to silence his brother. "We bring you this vamp, and you send us home. I want your word as a Woman of Letters."

"You have it. When the ship is safe, I will help you get home."

Dean nodded and held out his hand. His grip was strong and firm. Then he turned to Isaac. "Alright, do you want to work together on this or do your own thing? 'Cause I'd hate to get in your way, but you heard the lady. The price of a ticket home is one vampire head, and I intend to collect."

"You may join me, but you will follow my lead. I know this ship and these people." Isaac poked at the strange gold star on Dean's chest. "Perhaps you should change clothes, before you leave the cabin. After that—I have a plan."

o0o

Dean had thought he was used to the dark. After all, most of his work took place at night. But there was something different about the darkness here. Even out camping, there was always a glow on the horizon from a distant city. Here, there was nothing but stars—more stars than Dean had ever seen before. They seemed so bright up in the sky, but Dean could barely see his brother even though they stood shoulder to shoulder on the deck.

The poop deck.

Sam had leveled a glare at his brother the first time Isaac mentioned that term, making it clear that any and all toilet humor was unwelcome.

"You know we could go home." Sam leaned against the railing of the high deck oh-so-casually. As if there wasn't a ten-foot drop beneath them. As if the ship wasn't rocking back and forth under their feet.

Dean resisted the urge to hold a hand over his stomach, and swallowed against the bile rising in his throat. His insides were sloshing around, turning somersaults, and generally making him feel nauseous. He had been air-sick before. Apparently, sea-sick was exactly the same.

"We have a second set of ingredients for that spell." Sam patted his pocket where the packet was secured close to his chest in a water-proof bag. "We're not stranded. We don't need Anne to help us get home."

Miss Winchester had promised that she had all of the ingredients they would need for their spell, and she would hand them over when she was satisfied that the hunt was completed.

"Yeah, I know." Dean put a hand to his mouth as the ship tilted again. "But you heard her. That's her brother, and she's probably right. He will probably do something else to get himself killed if we don't help take care of this. Besides. People are dying."

For a brief moment, looking into Anne Winchester's steely eyes, Dean had almost felt as if he was talking to his father. This woman made no compromises, did everything she could to protect her loved ones, and said the three magic words in the same sharp tone.

 _People are dying_. So we hunt. Period. End of story.

"Do you think—I mean, Thomas might be our ancestor. He looks a little bit like grandpa Henry, don't you think?" Sam shifted as the ship moved under them again, but didn't seem at all bothered by the constant rocking. "What if we hadn't come here? Would Thomas have died? Would we never exist?"

Dean shook his head and bowed low over the railing. His stomach didn't care about Sam's musings right now. "I don't know, man. Maybe. Do you still think that spell brought us here for a reason?"

"I didn't do it wrong, Dean. I think there is something here that can help us fix the Colt." Sam frowned down at his brother's hunched shoulders. "Are you ok?"

"I just don't think we need to spend any more time on this ship than is absolutely necessary," Dean said.

Footsteps sounded on the deck below and a glowing light approached. It had half the power of a flashlight, but in this darkness it seemed twice as bright. Isaac held the lantern to light the way for himself and his companion, a teenager dressed in the simple clothing of a crewman, with a happy grin that seemed to be fixed permanently on his face.

Too young! Dean grimaced. He didn't want to use this boy as bait, but then, that was the trouble with bait. It had to be someone who looked young or helpless.

"This is Amos. He is to join us on watch tonight," Isaac said.

"Oh! You must be Isaac's friends!" The boy's smile grew even wider, if that was possible, and he opened his arms to wrap Dean in a bear hug that nearly lifted the Hunter off his feet despite the fact Amos was fully a foot shorter than him.

"Oh, I am so excited to meet you!"

Amos released Dean and moved to hug Sam. Dean shook himself like a dog that had just exited the water.

Dean's eyes narrowed as Amos stepped back and finally took a good look at the two brothers. Amos gaped, then covered his mouth. "Oh my gosh! You—how did you get here?"

"They came aboard this afternoon. They are fur traders who have been traveling on the continent-"

Amos shook his head, cutting Isaac off before he could finish his lie. "No! No, I don't mean that." He leaned closer to Dean, head tilted to one side, as if looking through the Hunter. Dean felt his guts twist, and wondered if the kid would stop smiling if Dean threw up all over him. Thankfully, Amos stepped back again. "You're at least three or four hundred years from where you ought to be! How did you manage that?"

The only thing Dean knew of that could spot time-travel in a person was an angel. But this wasn't just any angel. That hug...

"You're a cupid!"

"How did you know?" Amos craned his head to look at his back. "Are my wings showing?"

"A cupid?" Isaac repeated the word as if it was even more unbelievable than time-travel.

"Yeah, a cupid is a type of angel. But they mostly just make people fall in love with each other," Dean explained. Isaac looked even more confused.

"Who are you here for? I mean, who are you getting up?" Sam asked.

Dean pointed to Isaac, then to the cabin below them where Anne waited with her brother. "Oh—it's them, isn't it? Anne and-"

"No!" Amos shuddered. "A Campbell and a Winchester? That's a terrible idea! Actually-" He leaned closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I'm not here to set anyone up at all! I'm just here to watch. True love is about to happen on this ship, the kind that doesn't need our help!" Amos closed his eyes and sighed, as if he'd just eating a pound of chocolate and was ready to lapse into a blissful sugar coma. "Oh, and I have to help keep them alive. Make sure they don't starve this winter or get killed."

"Awesome! New plan." Dean clapped Amos on the shoulder. "You can smite the vampire when we find it!"

Amos blanched. "V-v-vampire? Here? Smite? Me? No! No, no, no, no, no! Oh dear, I knew there had to be more to this assignment than they were telling me."

"You are an angel?" Issac asked.

Amos nodded.

"Yet you are scared of a vampire?"

"I'm a cupid! I help people fall in love! I have a bow and arrow. I wouldn't know how to smite someone if I tried!"

"Really?" Dean asked. Amos nodded. Dean rolled his eyes and sighed. "Alright, well, it still can't kill you, so you still get to be bait! Go down there and look harmless."

"Bait?" Amos squeaked.

"You're here to protect whoever is supposed to fall in love, right?" Sam asked. "Well, getting rid of the vampire will help keep your lovers safe, won't it?"

Amos nodded again. "Ok. Ok." He took a deep breath. "I can do this! Act natural! Act harmless!" The angel stumbled back down the stairs to pace the deck below.

Dean shook his head, but immediately regretted it as everything inside his stomach threatened to crawl up and out. "Let's get this over with so I can get back on solid ground!"


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

 _Our ancestors_. Sam was still trying to wrap his head around this fact. Both sets of ancestors, in the same place, at the same time. What were the odds? He tried not to stare at Isaac as the other Hunter took up a position next to them at the railing to watch Amos pretending not to be bait below.

Isaac's eyes flicked toward Sam, as if he, too, was trying not to stare.

"You treat with angels and can give a man new blood. The future must be a very interesting place." Was there a hint of envy in Isaac's tone?

Sam bit his lip. "It's really not like that—we're different. My brother and I—Heaven and Hell have kind of had it out for both of us since we were little kids."

"Did you come here to escape them?"

"No. We actually came because there is something that we can't fix, and we think someone who died before we were even born could help."

Isaac took a moment to follow this logic, then nodded. "Your ancestors. The Men of Letters."

"He wasn't a Man of Letters. At least, not as far as I know." Sam paused, realizing that he didn't know much about Samuel Colt at all. Colt had been a metal worker, not a Hunter. He had had knowledge of spellwork and demons far beyond what any Hunter knew.

Was Samuel Colt a Man of Letters?

Huh. Sam blinked, surprised that he had never thought to ask that question before. It made perfect sense, once he lined up the facts.

"The thing is, we didn't land where we expected to. I'm not sure why we're here."

"You know that spell never really worked right anyway, Sam." Sam could not see his brother, but Dean _sounded_ green. He swallowed audibly.

"What do you mean, 'never really worked?'"

"Well, Henry was trying to get to Dad, wasn't he? He missed by nearly ten years."

"We're more than ten years off here, Dean. And Henry did come to us."

"I'm just saying, there doesn't have to be a reason why we landed here."

"I think there is." Sam planned to stay until he figured it out.

"Mrgh!" Dean leaned closer to the rail and let out a ragged breath. If Sam knew his brother, it was only sheer determination not to embarrass himself in front of Isaac that kept Dean from barfing.

"Are you ok? You know you could go wait with Anne-"

"There!" Isaac suddenly straightened, pointing to a movement from the deck below. A figure emerged from the trapdoor that led to the main passenger cabin, where the majority of the Pilgrims shared one large, cramped room. They were lucky Anne and Thomas had the money for a private cabin. Small as it was, Sam was glad they hadn't stepped out that door into the middle of the public cabin below decks.

The man who emerged had the slightly wilted look that came with age, but he moved with a spring in his step that belied that assessment. He paused and lifted his nose in the air, sniffing.

Across the deck, Amos froze. For one long moment, the vampire stared at the boy, and Sam's heart was in his throat. _He's an angel_ , he reminded himself. _He'll be fine_. Then the vampire sprang, launching himself into the air, teeth bared.

And landed on his stomach, the entire deck rattling with the force of his belly flop as Amos vanished in a flurry of feathers.

"Angel. Hmph." Isaaac snorted.

"Uh-oh." Dean's tone sounded choked. He grabbed his stomach and staggered to the railing, then heaved over the edge. Directly onto the vampire's head.

"Gah!" The startled cry rang out from below.

Isaac barked a short laugh. "You're timing is as good as Mr. Ludlow's Parliament Fart." Then he leapt over the railing to the lower deck, sword held high. The vampire scrambled backwards, away from the Hunter.

Parliament Fart? That had not been in any of his history books. Sam rushed down the stairs to intercept, blocking his exit. He had a clear shot at the neck and raised his machete, but a pair of hands shoved him hard in the side, throwing him off balance.

"No! Grandfather!"

In this darkness and with the distraction of watching his brother lose his lunch, Sam had not seen the girl arrive. She rushed at Isaac next, whose sword was already in motion. He could not stop his swing; there was too much momentum. For one terrible moment, Sam saw the knowledge that he might kill an innocent written on Isaac's face. The girl screamed.

There was another explosion of feathers, and suddenly Amos stood between them, his eyes glowing with angel grace. His hand caught the sword before it could strike, and he reached out the other arm to shelter the girl as if tucking her up under a wing.

Isaac stared, then slowly pulled his sword back. "Thank you."

Amos ignored Isaac, his full attention on the girl. "Are you alright?"

Hannah took a deep breath, and shook her head. "No! I am not alright! Mr. Campbell tried to kill my grandfather!"

"He's not your grandfather anymore," Sam said.

"It is not his fault! He is cursed!"

"He has killed two people already and you know that." Isaac's tone was stern. "And we will stop him before he kills again."

Hannah wilted under Isaac's stern glare. "Isn't there a way to help him?"

Sam felt his heart break for the girl, but there was no good answer for her. The vampire cure only worked if the vampire had not eaten, and there were two dead already. "I'm sorry. If he has already killed, then it's too late. All we can do is stop him before he kills again."

o0o

Dean wasn't sure how he ended up flat on his back in the bed across from Thomas. It had something to do with his little brother suddenly getting very bossy, the lingering taste of bile in his mouth, and the fact that the world felt like one giant roller-coaster.

However, Dean was pretty sure he knew exactly why Amos was suddenly very, very excited. The cupid ushered Hannah to the cabin and introduced her to Thomas in a tone of hushed awe, then stepped back to watch. Dean was not surprised when Thomas's jaw dropped at the sight of Hannah, and he immediately tried to sit up, only to be pushed firmly back into his bed by his big sister. Dean was even less surprised when Hannah blushed and smiled at the sight of Thomas, then rushed to help get him some water. They both fumbled with the cup, then stammered through polite greetings. Their eyes never left each other.

Love at first sight.

Meant to be.

Dean had known since he first saw Sammy's puppy-dog eyes staring at him out of that girl's face. It was in the genes. The reason Dean had spent his entire life trying desperately to say 'no' to the most persuasive pair of eyes on the planet was all Hannah's fault. It had come from her. Three hundred years ago.

Amos heaved a deep, contented sigh and wiped a tear from his eye.

"Alright, who would like to explain what happened?" Anne's voice broke the moment. She crossed her arms, looking from Dean to Amos, waiting expectantly.

"Are you alright?" Thomas had a hold of Hannah's hand, and looked like he never wanted to let go. "You're trembling. Are you hurt?"

Hannah shook her head. "No. This crewman saved me." She gestured to Amos.

"He saved you from the monster?"

Hannah's eyes grew even wider. "Monster? No! He would never—I mean—it was the other crewman, Mr. Campbell, who almost killed me!"

Anne and Thomas both looked alarmed.

"He was aiming for the vampire. Your grandfather," Dean said.

Hannah's sad eyes turned to him. "A vampire? Vampire's are not real."

"Oh, they are very real, and they are very dangerous." Dean knew better than to pull his punches when it came to this speech. Sometimes, being gentle could put more people in danger. Especially since this girl had already proven she was ready to jump between said vampire and a swinging sword.

Anne narrowed her eyes at Hannah. "Why don't you tell us what has happened to your grandfather?"

Hannah bit her lip, twisting her skirt in her hands. "Grandfather was—we booked passage aboard this ship in order to get away from an—evil—woman." Hannah shuddered as she said the world. "She deals with the dark arts, and serves demons."

Dean frowned, locking eyes with Anne. "Sounds like a witch."

"Yes! A witch," Hannah said.

"Why would a witch care about a vampire?" Anne asked.

"There was no vampire when we boarded." Hannah's expression darkened. "The curse is new. Now that land is in sight, the witch was worried that my grandfather would get away-"

"Hold on! Back up." Dean made a re-winding motion with his hand. "Why did this witch care about you or your grandfather?"

Hannah's eyes flicked from Dean, to Anne, to Thomas, who gave her an encouraging nod. The girl reached into her pocket and brought out a small amulet. It was bronze in color, shaped like the head of some pagan god, with horns and a strange, swirling symbol on its forehead.

Dean blinked and leaned closer. He had seen that amulet before. He had that amulet in his pocket.

"Whoa."

"That is a very old charm," Thomas said, staring with wide eyes. "I can't place the culture it is from, but it may even be older than the pyramids. Oh, if we were back in England and I had the Men of Letter's library-"

"Well, we're not and you don't," Anne said. "But we don't really need to know what it is. We only need to know that the witch wants it. Therefore, she should not have it."

"Yes!" Hannah closed her fist over the amulet again. "That is what my grandfather said! So we boarded the ship to get away from her, but she followed us. When we were at sea, she merely tried talking to my grandfather. She tried to bribe him, she argued with him, but he would not budge. So then she cursed him."

"She made him a vampire," Dean supplied. "Which means she has another vampire working with her."

Now Anne shook her head. "No! That Hunter, Isaac Campbell, he was right about one thing. A vampire has to feed often. We have been at sea for too long. If a vampire had started the journey with us, it would have killed before now. It could be a witch's curse."

Thomas beamed. "Which means that we could save him!"

"Or the vampire working with the witch has enough self-control to eat just a little, enough to survive but not enough to kill." Dean grimaced and reached for his pocket. His cell phone was useless, but they had thought of that before they made this trip. Dean pulled out a walkie-talkie and pressed the call button.

Sam needed to know what he was facing.


	6. Chapter 6

**6**

An angel.

Amos the cabin-boy was an angel. A cupid who came here to help two people find true love.

So said the men from the future. And Amos? Carefree Amos, the boy whom Isaac had taught to tie a sailor's knot and cried sometimes at night because he missed his home. Amos had _agreed_ with them. The boy thought he was an angel.

Isaac still would not have believed it if he had not seen it for himself, had not see Amos vanish, and then reappear. Had no seen Amos catch a sword with his bare hand, and yet draw no blood.

There was an angel on board this ship.

An angel who was afraid of monsters.

"Why did Amos—the angel—run away from the vampire? Why not kill it?"

"Angels are under orders from heaven. They pretty do only what they are ordered to, and nothing else. Besides, cupids are...different."

Sam spoke as if angels were as common place as werewolves and evil spirits. Isaac shook his head as he navigated the ladder that led between the upper deck and the middle deck. "Do angels show themselves more often in the future?"

"Not really. My brother and I are a special case." Sam hopped down from the ladder and immediately banged his head on the ceiling. "Ow!" He clasped his hand to his head, and immediately banged his elbow against the wall of the narrow corridor. "Ow!"

"Careful. Quarters are tight down here." Issac kept his knees and his back bent to avoid banging his own head. The ceiling was only five-and-a-half feet high. The narrow 'corridor' was really a rough, temporary wall of boards. Before the voyage began, this deck had been one open room. Now, it was a maze of temporary walls made out of oddly-shaped boards, usually with curtains for doors.

"Tight? Don't they have tall people yet?"

Isaac stifled a chuckle. Without real walls, sound could carry very far, very fast down here. "Very few as tall as you. Are you sure you want to join me? I can handle one man on my own."

"No, I'm not leaving." Sam followed Isaac's cue and lowered the volume of his voice. He was hunched over now, his legs bent out at an awkward angle but his elbows tucked in tight. "How do you swing a sword down here?"

"Carefully," Isaac said. He lifted his lamp to illuminate the corridor in front of them. At this hour, all of the passengers would be in bed. It was the best time to hunt, when civilians could not get underfoot. Like Hannah Chilton.

Isaac nodded. "Yes. Now, this vampire has fed recently, so I imagine that it is not desperate enough to try to hunt again tonight. It has probably gone to find a place to hide. I say we check Mr. Chilton's living space, just to be sure, then check the cargo hold."

Sam nodded. "Lead on! Is there more space in the cargo hold?"

"Well, the ceiling is higher, if that's what you're asking."

"Great!"

Isaac moved forward through the maze of walls and curtains. The Chiltons were in the stern of the boat, the back wall of their living space was the back wall of the ship. The curtain that hid their area from the rest of the space dangled to one side like a bedraggled ghost. Isaac peered around the door frame, and saw chaos. Clothing, cook pots, and shards of broken glass were strewn across the floor.

Sam grasped the lantern in Isaac's and and raised it higher, illuminating the whole space. "Is this the right place?"

"This is the living area that belongs to James and Hannah Chilton, yes." Isaac nudged at a heap of clothing with his toe. "There is not reason that a vampire would do this."

"It looks like someone was looking for something." Sam knelt down to examine the Chilton's belongings. "I wonder what is missing?"

"I wonder who searched the room." Isaac moved so that his back was no longer facing the door. "And where they are now?"

Sam reached under his shirt and pulled a pistol out of the waistband of his trousers. "Looks like you were right, Isaac. There's something more than just a vampire loose on this ship."

"Yes. A witch." Isaac's tone was grim. There was nothing to celebrate in knowing that his theory was correct. A vampire was easy to hunt a kill. Witches were nearly as difficult to deal with as the demons they served. "But what would a witch want with a vampire?"

"Hey, Sammy! Come in, Sammy!"

The voice belonged to Dean, but there was no one else around. Isaac's gun swung in all directions, searching for the source of the sound, but the space around them was empty.

Sam, unruffled, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box with a stick sticking out of one end. "Hey, Dean. What have you got?"

"Hannah confirmed that the vampire is her grandfather, a guy named James Chilton. But there's a chance he might not be a vampire at all. Hannah is very cure that he wasn't a vampire when they started this trip. The change happened just a few days ago." Dean's voice came out of the black box as if the man were standing right there. But he wasn't. There was no one there, and Sam didn't seem to think this was strange at all.

"Ok, that explains why there weren't any deaths before now. But it doesn't explain how James got turned."

"Hannah says that a nasty witch is trying to seal a powerful magical object from them."

"Oh. Well, that makes sense. The Chilton's cabin has been searched."

"That would explain a lot." Isaac decided to join in on the conversation, even though he could not see the other man anywhere. "But I have never heard of a witch's curse that makes a man act like a vampire."

"We'll know more if we can find James," Sam said. "Thanks, Dean. While you're there you might try asking Anne and Thomas if they know why the Colt would have brought us here."

"Because the spell doesn't work right, Sam!"

"Maybe. Just ask. Ok?"

"Yeah, ok. You bring Hannah's grandfather back alive."

"Agreed," Isaac said. "If you explain how this—thing—works. Are you still in the Winchester cabin?"

Isaac could hear Dean chuckle. "Yep. The future has some good things, Isaac. Some very good things. If my phone has enough juice, I'll even show you something called a 'movie.'"

Sam returned the black box to his pocket. "Alright. We try to capture James and see if there is a way to help him. Where would he go to hide?"

The shuffle of footsteps caused both men tot run around. James Chilton stood before them, hat in his hands _,_ his shirt covered in vomit, and a spark of hope in his eyes.

"Do you really think you can help me?"


	7. Chapter 7

7

Dean could feel the eyes over every person in the room on him as he spoke into his walkie-talkie. Even Amos took in the scene with wide eyes and an expression of awe on his face. When Dean finally put the speaker down, Amos snatched it up and stared to examine it from all sides.

"It's almost like the way my brothers and I speak with each other!"

Considering that Dean had labeled the angel's internal communication 'angel radio,' he couldn't argue the point. "A little bit, yeah."

"Oh, it's just amazing what you humans can come up with!" Amos tapped the speaker with his finger, and Dean hastily snatched it back.

"You have magic that even an angel does not understand?" Hannah's tone was hushed in awe, and she clasped her hands together as if praying. "You can save my grandfather!"

Dean felt a familiar pang at her hopeful tone. He didn't know what had happened to James Chilton yet. He had no idea if there was a way to save the man at all. But Sammy's puppy eyes were staring up at him, and it hurt so bad to crush that hope. "We're going to do everything we can."

Anne's expression tightened, lips pressed together in a disapproving line, as if she could see right through Dean. "Which means he doesn't know if he can help or not."

Hannah bit her lip, and a tear welled in her eye. Thomas patted her shoulder soothingly. "I'm so sorry. This must be awful for you."

Hannah nodded, and buried her face in Thomas' shoulder. Thomas, thankfully, was looking much better than before. He was sitting up now, and didn't look the same color as the white sheets. Dean's head had cleared a little, too, and he moved carefully across the cabin to unhook Thomas from the saline they had used to save his life. As he pulled out the needle, he looked over at Amos.

"A little help here? You can fix this."

"Oh! Well—but I'm not supposed to-" Amos wrung his hands. Without direct orders from heaven, he didn't want to act.

Dean rolled his eyes, resisting further comment on the angels obsession with following orders. He'd been there once. He knew how it felt. But that didn't make it any less frustrating to have to deal with. "Look, it won't hurt anything if you fix him up, and are you here to help these two anyway?"

Amos face cleared. "Well, yes. I am. I suppose...no. I wouldn't hurt." Amos leaned closer to Thomas and a glow of white light surrounded his hand for a brief moment.

Thomas stared at the small hole in his arm where the IV needle had been. The puncture wound had completely healed. With narrowed eyes, he peeled back the bandage from his neck. Anne gasped and touched Thomas' unmarked skin.

"Angels." She looked at Amos with a calculating expression. "Thank you." She crossed her arms, gaze flicking from Dean to Amos. "An angel and a man from the future, both here to save my brother on the same day."

Dean shrugged. "Well, what can I say. He's kind of important to us."

"Yes, but you wanted to leave earlier. Helping Thomas is not the reason you came here." Anne tapped the bowl which had contained the ingredients for their spell. "I heard you say that something went wrong. What are you really after?" Anne's gaze fixed on Dean and did not waver. It was like being in front of his father again, after have been out late at night, and John Winchester waiting for an explanation.

"We're looking for a man named Colt. We think he can fix something for us."

"Thaddeus Colt!" Thomas exclaimed. "He is a metal worker, but he's not here. He's back in England, studying with Joaquin Ganz."

"Ganz?" Dean frowned. The name sounded familiar, like he had skimmed past it in a book while looking for something else. "Is he a Man of Letters?"

"Yes. He is our finest metal worker and inventor. Thaddeus is his pupil." Anne frowned. "What is it that you need repaired?"

Dean eyed her carefully for a moment. Anne Winchester had already blackmailed him once. But Sam wanted more information, and the only way to get an explanation was to give one. Slowly, Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out the bundle of cloth when protected the Colt. He laid it in his lap and pulled back the covering, revealing the sad lump of disfigured metal.

"A pistol?" Anne asked. She ran her finger over the fat centerpiece which could house five bullets. "A pistol with five shots?"

"That's nothing. Every gun in the future can do that. This gun-" Dean paused. He still felt a thrill when speaking about the Colt. Of all the things in heaven and hell which he had dealt with, the Colt remained the most powerful and the most mysterious. "There are only five things in all creation this gun can't kill."

"He did it," Anne breathed in a hushed tone. "Thaddeus is going to figure out how to kill that yellow-eyed monster." There was a bitter bite in her voice. As if she had had to deal with old yellow-eyes personally.

How long had demons been haunting the Winchester family?

"Thaddeus doesn't, but one of his descendants does. And then I used it to kill that yellow-eyed bastard myself." Dean still felt a rush of warm fuzzies at the thought. It had been one of the more satisfying moments of his life.

A smile broke across Anne's face, filling it up with a dazzling warmth. "Good, and good riddance! But-" Her expression fell again, and the disapproving glare was back. "How could you let such a powerful weapon be destroyed?"

"Well, we didn't do it on purpose!" Dean retorted defensively. "And we're going to get it fixed. We would have it fixed by now, if you hadn't sopped us from leaving."

For a moment, Anne and Dean glared at each other.

"So, that's why you're here!" Thomas exclaimed. "The spell just doesn't have very good aim. I brought you to the ancestor of the person who made that weapon."

Dean frowned. "Thaddeus isn't here."

"No, but I am engaged to Thaddeus," Anne said. "He's planning to join me here as soon as he's learned everything he can from Ganz."

Dean felt a grin spreading across his face. He'd always felt a special connection to the Colt, and not just because she was the gun that could bring down the yellow-eyed demon. She felt like she belong with him, with them, part of the family.

Now he knew why. A long, long time ago, the Colts and Winchesters had been family.


	8. Chapter 8

**8**

A vampire who didn't want to kill. A witch who would do anything to get more power. Another family connection that the brothers Winchester had not forseen. The coincidences were stacking up, and Sam wasn't sure if this was supposed to be a comedy adventure, or a serious mission. They had come here on a half-wild hope, and now Sam wasn't sure what to make of the entire mess.

Where was all of this going to end?

Sam's musing were cut off as he opened the door to the Winchester cabin and found himself with a face full of feathers. He hopped backwards, sneezing. "What the-"

"Amazing!" James the vampire stared with wide eyes at the giant wing that blocked the door.

"A sight the other passengers should not see!" Isaac placed a firm hand on both Sam and James' shoulders, and shoved them forward, shutting the door behind them. Sam found himself pinned between a wall of feathers and an agitated vampire, and the room round his erupted into chaos.

"Hey, that's my foot!"

"Watch it, I almost spilled this!"

"Ow, ow, ow! I said you could have them if you do it gently!"

"Grandfather!"

Sam found himself shoved hard and fell backwards, landing on top of his brother, as Hannah pushed her way through the feathers and wrapped her arms around James.

Dean shoved at Sam. "Get off!"

Sam shoved back. "Where should I go?"

Dean grunted, and wiggled, and the boys shuffled themselves around until they were sitting beside each other instead of on top of each other.

Sam batted a feather out of his face. "What is happening in here?" It wasn't often that angels displayed their wings.

"Angel feathers are hard to come by." Anne's voice spoke from somewhere behind the giant wings. "I wanted to collect a few while I could. All done, Amos!"

The wings vanished, revealing Amos standing in the corner of the room next to Anne. Thomas was still in the other bed and Isaac was squashed into the corner by the door. Hannah and her grandfather took up the small space between the beds.

"This has got to be a violation of some kind of fire code," Dean muttered. Like his brother, he was too big for the small space, and the expression on his face said he was 'this close' to hammering a hole in the wall just to get some elbow room.

Hanna turned her head from side to side, looking for a place to sit. "Oh—it's a bit crowded in here."

After a bit of careful maneuvering, Hannah, Thomas, James, and Anne sat themselves down across from Sam, Dean, Isaac, and Amos. There toes met in the middle of the floor, a strange collection of Western boots and colonial shoes with brass buckles. What would a historian think, if they could get a photo of this gathering? They sat awkwardly together, as if not sure where to being.

"What happens now? How do you save my grandfather?" Hannah's voice broke the silence. She looked first at Dean, and then at Sam, with wide, hopeful eyes. Sam felt his heart melt under their gaze.

Was this what people meant by the expression 'puppy dog eyes'?

"Let's start with hearing your story." Sam nodded to James. "Can you describe what happened when the witch cursed you?"

James nodded and began hesitantly. "It was a strange spell. At first I didn't think it was a spell at all. She did not say any magic words, it was simply a potion. A red potion she had in a bottle. She bound me in place with her magic arts, and then forced me to drink it." James made a face. "After that, it felt like the entire world changed. The light was too bright. Sound was too loud. And I was so hungry!"

Sam's stomach turned sour. He had heard something like this before, a long time ago from a young woman who just wanted to come down off of a high. "James, what did the potion taste like?"

"I don't—" James closed his eyes and shook his head. "I had never tasted anything like it before."

Sam grimaced. "And since?"

James hung his head. "Blood. It tasted like blood."

"Damn!" Dean shook his head. "She fed you vampire blood. That's how we would up with a vampire on this ship after it was at sea for three months."

"Then there is no cure," Isaac said. "He has fed, and even if he had not, we could not hope to find the blood of the sire."

Hannah's eyes grew wider and sadder, filling with tears as every word crushed her hopes. "No! You said you could help him!"

Sam shook his head. He hated giving bad news. Even after all these years, it didn't get any easier. Especially with this girl and those sad eyes. There was something about her that made him want to put his arm around her and reassure her that everything would be ok. But that would be a lie. "I'm sorry. I don't think we can."

"Please, sir. I don't want to hurt anyone else. But when I get hungry—it is like there is a monster inside me who takes over. I cannot control it." James held out his hands, palms up and empty, a gesture of submission. "Please. You must stop it."

"No!" Hannah grabbed her grandfather's hands, her expression suddenly fierce. "No! We will find a way. You!" Now Hannah looked at Amos, who startled and shifted sideways. "You are an angel! You can help him!"

Amos' face grew red, and he shook his head. "I'm sorry. I can't. My brothers might be able to, but I—I am a cupid. We only help with love." He looked at his toes, shoulders curled in on himself, as if genuinely sorry that he could not help. Maybe he was. Sam had only ever met one cupid, but they didn't seem to be very much like the other angels.

"It's alright." James' tone was calm and soothing as he put a hand on Hannah's shoulder. "I have lived a faithful life. I will go to be with the Lord, and we will see each other again in heaven."

Sam and Dean shared a look. As a vampire, they both knew that James' soul wasn't going to heaven. Neither of them said anything. Why make things worse?

Anne watched them with narrowed eyes. "You do not believe that to be true."

Dean glared at Anne, but told James bluntly, "Monsters don't go to heaven. I'm sorry."

"But there is an angel here!" Hannah turned to Amos and gripped his hands in hers. "Please! You know my grandfather is a good man! He would never harm anyone! You cannot send him to Hell!"

Amos shrank back from Hannah, shaking his head. "It's not up to me!"

"Why not?" Now Dean had fixed Amos in his sights with the stern glare that meant he had a plan, and he was about to make someone see things his way. "You could take him. Reapers can re-direct people. You could, too."

"No!" Amos stamped his foot. "I'm a cupid! I help people fall in love! I don't smite, I don't heal, and I don't reap the dead!" Fat tears were forming in his eyes now, and he vanished in a gust of air.

Silence filled the cabin.

Anne plucked a feather out of her hair and tucked it into her pocket. "Well, he's not exactly what I expected an angel to be like." She gripped Hannah's shoulder. "We'll sort out what to do about your grandfather lately. Isacc—fetch some chains from the captain. We can't have him running about. The rest of you-" Now she fixed her eyes on Sam and Dean. "We need a way to kill a witch."

Dean smiled. That was a problem he knew how to solve. "We can handle that."


	9. Chapter 9

**9**

Dean stood on the poop deck again, trying to wrestle his tumbling stomach into submission through sheer willpower. It was daylight this time, but Dean wasn't entirely convinced that being able to see the sea and sky bob up and down in time with the boat's movements helped matters any.

Beside him, Anne stood with his gun, loaded with witch killing bullets, pointed at the deck below. Very discreetly pointed from beneath the wide, flapping cloak she had put on to protect against the December chill. Dean still wasn't entirely sure how she had wound up with his gun. Something to do with the fact that he hadn't found his 'sea legs' yet, which meant that his aim, which was nearly perfect when standing on solid ground, was completely off as long as he was on the tilting, swaying ship.

There had been no target practice range to take Anne to where she could prove herself worthy of joining the hunt, but something about the stern set of her chin and her crossed arms had prevented Dean from arguing with her. Thomas claimed she was an excellent shot and she certainly knew how to hold a gun.

Sam waited with Thomas on the other side of the ship. Thomas wasn't useful in any way. He admitted himself he was a terrible shot and had never held a sword. But he insisted on being part of this. It had been hard enough to convince him to stay above decks and let Hannah go below to fetch the witch alone. Besides, it was a better plan than leaving him alone in the cabin with the vampire chained up there. Thomas still smelled like blood, James said, and the vampire would be getting hungry again soon.

Dean sighed. When had this whole thing gone sideways? It wasn't often that Dean felt bad about killing a monster, but James was making him regret ever having come here at all. Or maybe it was Hannah, with her eyes that reminded Dean so much of Sam, and her desperation to save the only family she had left in the world. She only wanted one thing from them, and it was the one thing they could not give.

Because Dean was pretty sure that the witch didn't have a vampire cure tucked up her sleeve. When they were done here, James would have to die. There was no way around it.

Dean wasn't counting on a miracle. Their angel had fled, and it was probably better that way.

Hannah looked up at Dean and them over at Sam from her place near the center of the ship. With a final nod to each of them, she reached down to open the hatch and clambered down into the passenger area below. Isaac remained on the deck, watching for her return, his gun ready. Hannah was going to offer the witch a trade, and lure her out on deck where the Hunters could shoot here. Isaac had arranged with the captain for the crew to be busy elsewhere. A few of the passengers had gone off to explore the coast, and the rest were tucked away below decks. They could shoot the witch, claim she had slipped, and no one would know any better.

"This is a terrible plan," Dean muttered.

"It is the only one we have. Dorothy will never come to meet with us. She must think it is Hannah alone who wants to talk with her."

"Yeah. I know." Dean hadn't been able to find a flaw in the logic before, either, which is why he hadn't raised an objection. "I still say Dorothy is a weird name for a witch."

Anne raised one eyebrow. "Why?"

"It just—seems more like it belongs to a sweet little girl who likes dogs and just wants to go home." Dean shook his head. "Never mind."

"Well, I hope the little girl was able to find her way home," Anne said.

Dean turned to take a good look at the woman standing beside him. She who had taken one look at strangers from the future, and decided to blackmail them in order to save her family. He should have been mad about that, but he wasn't. In fact, Dean found he liked Anne more and more. She was practical in a ruthless sort of way that reminded him very much of his father.

She also had a dark shadow under her eyes that also reminded Dean of his father. "So, what's your story?"

Anne raised a questioning eyebrow. "My story?"

"Why are you and Thomas out here in the middle of nowhere? Why did you leave home to help build a colony? Why didn't your fiancee come with you?"

Anne turned and looked out over the sea toward the shoreline. "We are Men of Letters, my brother and Thaddeus and I. I know Hunters think that we are useless because we don't go and track down every little monster or spirit, but we have our eyes on a much bigger picture. Tell me, Dean, do the people of the future remember a colony called Roanoke?"

Dean's stomach flipped again, and it didn't have anything to do with the ship. "Yeah. Yeah, I've heard about it. Most people have no idea what happened there, but Sam and I know that it was a demon virus."

"Virus?" Anne repeated the word as if he'd just spoken a foreign language. "It was certainly the work of a demon. Azazel the Prince of Hell and his knight, Abbadon. They thought that they could start the apocalypse here in the New World, and they almost succeeded. The Men of Letters barely got there in time to stop it, and they were far too late to save anyone. Thaddeus' father died in the fight." Anne paused, her expression sad and a single tear slipped down her cheek. "He was a good man."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too. We locked the demons away like we always do, but it will only take another few hundred years for them to break free again."

 _Like we always do?_ "You—the Men of Letters locked the Yellow-eyed demon and Abbadon up?" _That's possible?_

Anne nodded. "Yes. Every few hundred years they break free, and we must lock them away again. They are too powerful to kill or lock away forever." Anne's expression hardened. "That is why Thaddeus vowed that next time, things will be different. That is why he is working with Ganz to discover a way to kill a demon. That is why Thomas and I are here. We must make sure that there are Men of Letters in the New World so that when the demon wakes again, we will be ready. We will end this cycle and stop them for good." Anne frowned and turned to Dean. "But you are a Winchester. You should know all of this."

Dean wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry. "Yeah, we should have. You don't know how much I wish we could have. But—" Dean paused, the words on the tip of his tongue. Should he warn her that Abbadon would go after the Men of Letters first next time, leaving Azazel free to finish his apocalypse plan?

If he did, would he find a completely different world when he went home? That hadn't worked out too well for Marty McFly

No. It was over and done with. He and Sam and survived, and Yellow-Eyes was dead. After all, if the Men of Letters had been around to stop Azazel, John Winchester would have never gone to find the Colt, and Dean would have never killed the demon for good.

"Things work out a little differently the next time the demon comes around."

Anne smiled, a sharp, fierce smile that any monster with any sense would know to be scared of. "Yes. A gun that can kill a demon and a bullet that can kill a witch. I think I like your future, Dean Winchester. I like it a lot."


	10. Chapter 10

**10**

The dark that pressed in when she landed on the passenger deck did not bother Hannah. Nor did the pungent smell of too many people crammed into too small a space for too long. Hannah had lived here for three months. She was used to it. Besides, the dark and the smell were nothing to be afraid of. The gnawing fear that had inhabited Hannah this entire trip came from one woman. Hannah had spent the past three months hiding in their small corner of the ship, heart hammering with fear that today would be the day the witch attacked.

Then, the worst had happened. Hannah's grandfather had gone missing, and then returned with blood on his mouth.

Now, Hannah was walking toward the thing that had done all of this, and her heart was steady. Her hands did not shake, and she felt calmer than she had since they left England.

Hannah had nothing left the witch could take from her. If there was no hope for her grandfather, then there was no hope for the witch. Hannah would make sure of it.

Dorothy sat on her bed, knitting. Such a simply, homely task seemed out-of-place for a witch. But Dorothy had fooled everyone on board into thinking she was a normal person. Even her husband knew nothing of her dark side.

Dorothy looked up to see Hannah in her doorway and smiled, a wicked grin that spread across her face like a scythe. "Well, well, Miss Chilton. I thought you wanted nothing to do with me?"

"I will give you what you want," Hannah said. "Take a walk on deck with me." Hannah turned and went back up the ladder, up to the fresh air and daylight, not bothering to see if Dorothy followed.

The witch would come. She could not resist.

o0o

Thomas stood next to the tall Hunter and watched Hannah descend into the middle deck with his heart in his mouth. He had not known this woman for very long, but somehow he already felt a strong affection for her. They had stayed up together all night, talking, while the others went about making preparations for the witch-trap. Hannah had told him about her life with her grandfather, and Thomas had explained about the Men of Letters. There was a comfortable closeness between them that made Thomas think of her as family already.

Did she think of him that way?

Wherever their relationship went from here, Thomas had resolved to offer Hannah a place in his and Anne's home. If her grandfather could not be saved, she would not have to be alone in the world.

"I should have gone with her." It felt like an eternity since Hannah had vanished below decks. Would the witch see through their plan?

"That would give away the plan," Sam said. He appeared so calm, standing with his gun ready as if he shot witches before breakfast every day.

He was a Hunter. Maybe he did.

"I know." Thomas turned his attention back to the deck and felt a rush of relief. Hannah had emerged. She looked unharmed, and Isaac came to help her up the ladder and pull her out of the line of fire.

Thomas waited, heart hammer with anticipation, but no one else emerged.

"What is wrong?"

"Just wait," Sam said, sounding completely unworried. Thomas clapped his mouth shut and waited. He didn't have much other choice. He had no pistol, no sword, and no spells to help in the fight.

A head emerged from the hatch. Sam shifted, raising his gun, but Thomas grabbed his wrist.

"No! That's not her."

Sam frowned, but lowered his weapon. The woman stepped onto the deck, greeting Hannah with a smile, and another woman emerged behind her. They kept coming, some bringing their children, until there were at least ten on deck. They blinked and stretched in the sun, like prisoners kept too long in a dark cell.

"There!" Thomas pointed as the last woman emerged. "That's Dorothy."

"Too late," Sam said with a grimace. "We can't shoot her in front of all these people."

Thomas' heart lurched at the look of dismay on Hannah's face as Sam and Anne put their weapons away.

Now what?

o0o

 _This was not the plan_. Isaac watched the women and children climb onto the deck with a grimace. This was a Hunter's nightmare; a group of civilians wandering around in the middle of a hunt. They could get in the way. They could become collateral damage. They could misunderstand what was happening and put the Hunter on trial for murder.

Anne and Sam seemed to understand this. Isaac saw the glint of sunlight bouncing off metal as they lowered their guns. Shame. He would have liked to see these witch-killing bullets in action. He would have to get the recipe before they left.

"Oh, what a lovely day for a walk on the deck!" Mary Sutton had her face turned to the sun, and several of the other women smiled in agreement. They split off into smaller groups and began to walk the track around the outer edge of the deck.

Only the witch remained, her eyes fixed on Hannah. Isaac put his arm around the girl's shoulders and tightened his grip on the gun the Hunters form the future had lent him, loaded with his own witch-killing rounds. There was no way to kill her without the other women noticing.

Was it worth it? What damage would she do to the rest of these people if she was not stopped now?

"My, my, Hannah. You seem to have made a lot of new friends recently." Dorothy clucked her tongue like a mother hen. "And here I thought you were finally ready to see things my way. Still, this doesn't change anything. It's a simple trade. Your grandfather's life for the amulet."

"My grandfather is dead already!" Hannah gripped Isaac's hand tightly. "I know that you lied. I know there is no way to cure him."

Dorothy shrugged. "So what if there isn't? You have more friends now, and I have more curses. Will you still hold onto that silly trinket after everyone on this ship is dead? You'll never survived the New World on your own."

"You will not hurt us." Isaac pulled back his cloak so that Dorothy could see his gun. "We know how to deal with your kind."

"Do you?" Dorothy made a pushing gesture with her hand and said something in a language Isaac had never heard before. A crushing pain bloomed in his chest, and he gasped for air.

"No!" Hannah stepped free of Isaac's protective grasp and held up the amulet. "Here it is! Stop this!"

Dorothy said something else, and suddenly Isaac could breath again. He looked around, but none of the other women had been near enough to hear. They continued on their walk, although one or two gave them a concerned look. If this exchange got much louder, they would notice. Which would not be good for the witch or the hunter.

Dorothy held out her hand. "So glad that you've finally seen sense, my dear."

"Yes." There was a steely look in Hannah's eyes and she stepped forward. "Yes, I finally have." She placed the amulet in Dorothy's hands, then gripped the other woman's wrists tight, pulled her toward the edge of the deck, and shoved her overboard. Dorothy let up a loud wail that only stopped with the sickening splash as she hit the water.


	11. Chapter 11

**11**

The sound of Dorothy's final scream and the sound of her body crashing into the water echoed across the cold air as if it had been amplified by a megaphone. All activity on deck stopped. The women paused in their circuits as all heads turned toward the railing where Hannah stood. Then, as one, everyone surged across the deck toward the railing. Dean launched himself down the stairs two at a time, careening into the railing to stare down at the trail of bubbles that were all that remained of the witch.

Dean turned back to Hannah, staring at her empty hands. _Where was the amulet_? Dean reached into his pocket, where he had kept the necklace ever since he reclaimed it from Sam the day Chuck revealed himself. Had this moment changed the future? Would it vanish? His hands closed over the cold lump of metal with a sigh of relief. It was still there.

"She slipped!" Hannah looked as shocked as everyone else felt, suddenly the picture of innocence. "I tried to catch her but-"

If Dean didn't know better, he would have believed her himself. The other women ate it up. They promptly surrounded Hannah with a wall of sympathy.

"You poor thing!"

"How awful!"

"You tried your best to catch her. Good thing you weren't pulled overboard too!"

"I felt an icy patch myself."

Anne's voice rang out above the others, firm and commanding. "Perhaps we should all go back to our quarters. I will inform the captain of what has happened." She wrapped an arm around Hannah's shoulders and steered her back toward her cabin. The other women dispersed, vanishing back down the hatch to the middle deck.

"Wow." Sam approached, Thomas beside him, both wearing identical expressions of surprise. "I was not expecting that."

"It's gone." Why was everyone so worried about Hannah and the witch? Didn't they know that the future could have just been changed! Dean pointed to the water. "She tossed the amulet with the witch!"

"Well, it was the best way to get close enough and catch her off guard at the same time," Sam said. He didn't look worried at all, which was the only thing that kept Dean from hyperventilating. The amulet wasn't as important as the car, but once he'd gotten it back, he'd vowed never to lose it again.

"But-where will it go?" Dean thought of that Christmas, the stole presents, the small package Sam had so carefully wrapped for Dad. The thrill of pride when his little brother hand handed it to him instead. He didn't want to lose that memory.

Sam shrugged. "It has 400 years to wash ashore and be found. But what about the witch? Do you think drowning will really finish her off?"

"It will have to be enough for now." Isaac glared down at the icy water. "I am not jumping in to find her. If she revives and can make it out of the water, I will be waiting for her when she comes ashore."

Dean considered Isaac's stern tone and firm grip on his gun, and nodded. "That'll do."

"Aghhh!" The strangled cry rang across the deck, coming from the Winchester cabin where they had left James in chains. Hannah broke into a run, Anne close behind her, trying to hold the girl back. Dean scrambled forward to help, and caught Hannah around the waist before she could open the cabin door.

"My grandfather!"

"Calm down and let someone who knows what they're doing go in first!" Dean bellowed in her ear. He nodded to Isaac, who pushed open the door with the nose of his gun.

James lay on the bed where they had left him, chained hand and foot to the bed frame. He thrashed, tangling his limbs in the sheets, and writhed in pain. "Ahh!"

"What is wrong?" Thomas was trying to peer over Sam's shoulder. He stepped toward Hannah, and she buried her face in his shirt.

"I have no idea," Dean said. All three Hunters stood helplessly by while James continued to writhe in pain. His twitching became weaker, his breath more shallow, with each passing moment.

"Is Dorothy dead?" James gasped.

"Yes." Isaac gave the vampire a fierce smile. "Hannah killed her."

"Hannah?" James turned to look at his granddaughter, then smiled. "Good girl. Then it is time to say good-bye."

"Goodbye?" Hannah's face was white.

"She tied our lives together." James' voice was strained with pain and his breath came in shallow gasps. "If she dies, I die."

Tears poured down Hannah's face. "But that means I killed you!"

"No! No." James reached for Hannah's hands, his chains clinking. "You saved me. It is better this way."

"Where is that angel?" Thomas' words sounded fiercer and angrier than anything Dean had heard from the boy yet. "Amos! We need you!" Thomas shouted at the ceiling.

There was a rush of air, and suddenly two more people stood in the room. Amos had his hat in his hands and his face was flushed. He took one look at James and burst into tears.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I can't—but I have a friend. Maybe he can help." Amos gestured to his companion.

The newcomer was wearing an old man, bent and wizened, his hair white as snow, but he had a stern strength to him that gave away the angel hiding inside the vessel. "Hello. My name is Samandriel. Amos told me about your problem. I am here to help."

Dean stared open-mouthed at the old man. "Alfie?"

Sam rolled his eyes. Everyone else ignored him.

Samandriel knelt next to the bed and placed a hand on James' forehead. "He is dying."

Isaac snorted. "Yes. We know. That is why you are here, to save him."

"You want me to save a vampire?"

Anne's eyes were full of fire as she glared at the angel. "We want you to cure him."

Samandriel shook his head. "I cannot cure him. All I can do is purify his soul so that he can enter heaven. But if I do that, he will die."

Silence filled the cabin as everyone looked toward Hannah. James wiped a tear from her face with his thumb. "It is alright, my dear. You heard him. I will go to heaven, and we will meet again. I will build a large house for you, and your husband, and your children when they join us. We will see each other again."

Hannah closed her eyes, leaned forward, and kissed James' forehead. "I will miss you."

James bit back a gasp of pain, and Samandriel laid his hand across the vampire's forehead again. James' entire body glowed with white light as the angel's grace did it work, until finally the light dimmed and James lay still. Dead. Hannah reached out and closed his eyes, then buried her face in her arms.

Amos sniffed and wiped a tear form his eye and knelt next to Hannah to whisper in her ear. "I will make sure he reaches heaven." Then Amos titled his head back and a stream of blue light exited his mouth.

Amos the cabin boy gasped and staggered, holding a hand out against the wall to steady himself. He stared around at the cabin with wide eyes. "What happened? Where am I? Who are you?"

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	12. Chapter 12

**12**

Isaac stood on deck next to Amos. He was just a cabin boy now, the angel seemed to be gone for good. Amos was still confused and not entirely sure what had happened. He sat with his legs dangling between the rails, staring past his toes into the icy water below.

The mood on the ship had been silent and somber since Dorothy fell overboard and James soared into heaven next to an angel. The shore party had returned, and the captain had told Dorothy's husband about the accident. No one even imagined that poor Hannah had anything to do with it. Isaac had to admit he was impressed; the girl knew how to work a crowd.

"Do you want to go on an adventure?" Amos had raised his head and was talking now, although if his words were meant for anyone to hear, Isaac wasn't sure. "That was all the voice said. I never even saw him. I thought it was a person behind me—but it wasn't. I said 'yes', an adventure sounds nice." Amos stared at his hands, as if not entirely sure they were still his. "Now I am here. What am I supposed to do here? I never wanted to leave England!"

"I will look after you until the ship can return you home." There was no choice but to stay for the winter, but in the spring the Mayflower would journey back home.

Amos looked up at the Hunter. "I can't pay you, and there is no family waiting for me who can pay you, either."

The way the boy said 'no family' gave Isaac pause. It wasn't the way one said, 'my family is too poor to afford it. "You are an orphan?"

Amos nodded and his head sunk deeper into his shoulders. "At least there's no one sitting back home worrying about me. He might have warned me, you know? Before he jumped inside me and took me across the ocean. Someone should teach angels to mind their manners."

Isaac threw back his head and laughed. "I would like to see that. Unfortunately, I do not know how to track an angel. I only know how to track spirits. And monsters." He settled on the deck next to Amos. "You could join me, if you like. I could use an apprentice. I can't pay you, but you'll learn to help people, save lives even. And if we ever see that angel again, I'll help you teach him to mind his manners."

A slow grin spread across Amos face, lighting it up in a way entirely different from the cupid's eager smile. "I would like that, Mr. Campbell. I would like that a lot."

o0o

Thomas and Hannah sat side by side on the poop deck, the December wind whistling around them. James' body had been taken down to the hold to await burial once the passengers finally decided on a place to land. Right now, Hannah had no desire to go back to the quarters where she had lived with her grandfather, and no desire to be in the crowded Winchester cabin. On board a ship crammed too full of people, privacy was best found out on deck, under the open sky.

Hannah did not mind that Thomas had come with her. His hand in hers was a warm and comforting presence. Hannah wasn't completely sure where this relationship was going yet, but Thomas made her feel comfortable and safe. He didn't ask her to talk, simply sat in silence beside her so that she did not have to mourn a lone.

"Men from the future and angels from heaven." Hannah was still trying to understand the events that had happened in the last day. She had teeter-tottered between despair and hope so many times she had lost count. Now it all felt like a dream except for the aching emptiness left by her grandfather's loss and Tom's firm presence at her side. She had lost a family a found a family all in the same day.

"It seems there is darkness in the world that no one can win against."

Thomas squeezed Hannah's hand tight. "There is a lot of darkness, but there are some good things, too. I'll show you, if you like. I'll teach you everything the Men of Letters know. If you—if you wan to stay with us. With Anne and I."

Hannah found that she could still smile through her tears, and nodded. "Yes. I would like that."

Thomas wrapped his arm around Hannah, holding her close, crowding out the chill that threatened to take over her heart.

o0o

"Well, it looks like that cupid was right about Thomas and Hannah." Dean stepped back into the cabin after spying on the couple on the poop deck. Sam was busy filling a large bowl with ingredients. The witch was dead and it was time to go home.

Anne watched from the corner, an expression of surprise on her normally stern face. "You had everything that you needed to create the spell again?"

Dean smiled, contented with the look on Anne's face as she realized that her destruction of their original spell was not the reason the two Hunters had stayed. "We thought it was better to be safe than sorry this time." Dean closed the door to the cabin so that no one would see this next part. "Time travel doesn't often work out the way you expect."

Sam snorted. "No, it does not. I still don't understand why we came here."

"I told you. Anne's going to marry Thaddeus Colt and their descendant will be Samuel Colt."

Sam shook his head. "No, it's not that. I mean—that shouldn't have made a difference to the spell. I put in a filing from the Colt—the gun. The spell wasn't supposed to find Samuel Colt, it was supposed to find the bit of metal that the gun was made out of. It was supposed to take us to the day that piece of metal became the Colt."

Dean rubbed his chin. "Huh. Ok. So why did we land here?"

Anne looked down at the Colt, which lay between them on the table. "What is it made out of?"

"No idea. Whatever alloy they made guns out of back them, I guess." Dean knew how to fire a gun and clean a gun, not how to make one from scratch. "I guess I should have used the comet as an anchor, instead of the gun."

Anne's ears prickled. "The comet? What comet?"

"The Colt was made when Haley's comet was in the sky. It's a comet that comes past earth every 75 years. That's part of why we don't think we can fix it unless we time travel. The comet has something to do with why the gun works."

"The comet." Anne clapped a hand over her mouth, then ducked down and opened her trunk. She reached in and pulled out a small bundle, which she unwrapped next to the Colt to reveal a lumpy bit of metal. They were different shapes, but the same color, and both gleamed in the candlelight with an otherworldly hue. "This fell from the comet."

Sam and Dean both stared at the meteorite in a hushed awe. It was like looking at a sonogram of the Colt, the embryo before it was born. Dean patted the gun.

"There, you see! Someone's been watching out for you for a long time. Don't worry. We'll get you put back together."

Sam stared, with that expression that clearly said he was wondering how he and Dean came from the same two sets of DNA. Then he realized what his brother had implied. "Wait a minute—you want to try again?"

Dean grinned and tucked the Colt into his pocket. He turned to Anne and held out his hand. She grasped it and shook it warmly.

"Thank you for saving my brother."

Dean reached up to touch the rim of his Western had with one finger. "My pleasure, ma'am."

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes, then stepped between them to draw the symbol on the door. An incantation and a bit of blood, and it glowed with blue light.

Time to go home.


	13. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The night was dark and cold. Clouds covered the moon and blotted out the stars. A shrill wind whistled through the trees and clattered at the windows. Anne Winchester huddled close to the fire while Thaddeus fetched more wood from outside to have enough to keep the flames going through the night.

There was a yelp from the next room. "Mommy! Mommy! There's a monster in my closet!" Anne's son careened into the room, five years old, face a white as his nightshirt. He huddled in his mother's lap.

"Ohh, Andrew! It's alright. You're safe inside the house. There can't be a monster in your closet. You helped me check on the wards this afternoon. Remember?"

Anne carried her son back to his room, but stopped when the closet door rattled. Anne set Andrew down and picked up her pistol. Andrew gasped and hid behind her knees.

"There's something in there!"

The door knob turned and opened to reveal two strangers. Two very tall strangers in hats and leather pants, wearing bright golden stars that belonged to another time.

"Sam? Dean?" Anne lowered her pistol.

"Anne?" Both men looked up and their expressions fell into twin frowns of disappointment.

"I told you it wasn't right yet!"

"Well, we had to try!"

"How did you get in my closet?" Andrew stepped away from his mother as soon as she lowered her gun, and stared up at the men with wide eyes. "Did you kill the monster in there?"

Dean looked down and his face immediately lit up with a huge grin. He dropped to one knee in front of Andrew. "We killed all the monsters in there. Don't you worry, kid."

Anne crossed her arms, a grin teasing its way across her face. "It seems you are good at killing monsters, but not so good at casting spells."

Sam winced. "Yeah—hey—do you have any suggestions?"

Dean shook his head. He still had one hand on the door, which hadn't closed yet. Anne peered over his shoulder. The future looked a lot like a long hallway full of doors. "No! We are not staying and getting mixed up in another hunt!" Dean said.

"We won't leave the house. We'll just ask Anne if she knows a way to tweak this spell."

Dean turned to Anne. "Do you think you could?"

Anne rolled up her sleeves. "I might have some ideas. Let me see your recipe."

Ten minutes later, a cold burst of air announced that Thaddeus had returned. He stomped snow off his boots, arms piled high with wood. "Anne?" The man stared at the sight of his wife huddled over a bowl full of spell ingredients next to an open door that used to lead to a closet and now led to a long hallway. He frowned. Something was missing from this scene. Thaddeus pointed to the empty bed. "Where's our son?"

All eyes turned toward the open door to the future. Anne's face paled. "Uh-oh."

Sam winced, but Dean just jumped to his feet. "Don't worry. He can't have gone far. We'll have him back in a jiff..."

o0o

The night was still, without a hint of a breeze. Not even a blade of grass stirred, as if time had been frozen. The moon and stars shone bright in the sky, but they were all out-classed by the meteor that tried desperately to outrun its long tail.

Samuel Colt saw none of it. Inside his forge, he saw only the light of the fire and the way it glinted off of the surface of the metal in his hands. The meteorite had traveled all the way from England, carried by his ancestors across the sea for this very moment. Seventy-five years ago they had tried and failed to make a weapon that could kill a demon. Tonight, Samuel Colt was determined to succeed.

Samuel placed the lump in a cup inside the forge and watched the metal slowly melt. Beside him, an array of tools and spell ingredients lay ready. He only had one shot at this, and he had to finish before the night was out.

In the back of the room, a door rattled. Samuel Colt frowned and looked up to see two strangers step through, dressed like law men. The gold stars on their chest didn't make any difference here. They still found themselves staring into the black barrel of Colt's gun.

"Ha-ha!" The shorter one didn't care about the bullet pointed at his face. He pumped his fist in the air and cheered. "This looks like Wyoming. That looks like a forge! Fifth time's the charm, Sammy!"

"Fifth time for what?" Colt snapped. He pulled back the hammer on the gun with an audible click.

The taller one heaved a tired sigh. "Oh come on! Why does everyone start out by threatening to shoot us?"

"Because you walked out of my closet, and my closet was empty a few minutes ago," Samuel said. "What are you? What are you doing here?"

The shorter one held out a broken gun with a familiar Latin inscription on the barrel. "We are Hunters, we're from the future, and we were hoping you could help us fix this."

Samuel snatched the gun. He knew it, even though he hadn't seen it yet. He had laid out the design on paper so many times he knew it by heard, and here it was in his hands. Real. Melted. Broken. He glared at the strangers and their magic door.

"What the Hell did you do to my gun?"


End file.
